Timeline - Anne of Windy Poplars, The Second Year - March (Anne's birthday).
Allow me the latitude to connect this narrative to the end chapter 11, where Anne has a cold, but officially, that chapter is about April or so.

Chapter 20: How Providence Works (previously "Disasters-Part 1)

Helen quickly grabbed the horizontal, iron pipe that curtained the top deck of the sinking ship. It was ice cold and the burr of it traveled up her arm and quickened her heart. The wind flung her nut-brown, chin-length hair forward and she used her other hand to sweep her bangs back. She knew the events of her premonition well enough now to anticipate the next swell of the quaking sea as the injured vessel bobbed. She did not fall, unlike last time when the seascape bucked and pitched. The crew scrambled around her, not seeing her, lowering the lifeboats and helping the passengers.

What a relief to see that Charles Sloane and Robert Wright were not among the men cowering, or worse, cutting the queue for lifeboats.

The Avonlea pair used very long lengths of rope tied around a foot to rescue any forgotten women and children from the decks below. Between them, a few were brought to air. Charles returned topside again and announced, "I hope we got them all! This ship is lost."

"Abandon ship!" A crewman shouted.

Robert agreed. It was time to save themselves.

Helen and her third eye could assess the state of the watercraft better than they. The hull of the ship had cracked. People were dying. Yet she was proud of her friends as they stood knee-deep in salty ocean water. The bow of the ship erected to a steady forty-five degrees as the stern sunk lower. If there were still people below, they had already drowned or were now permanently trapped to endure a terrifying fate. Robert used his pocket knife and cut himself and Charles free of their tethering ropes. As they boarded the last lifeboat, both of them heard the high-pitched voice of a woman, begging for help.

"Help me! I'm stuck! I'm going to drown! Help me! Please, God!"

Helen watched once again as Charles and Robert gazed out to the voice, both of them trying to decide whether or not to even attempt another rescue. Waves of ocean water overtook the vessel. Helen began to fade away from the disaster. Burned into her mind was this picture of Charles Sloane, in his monogrammed life jacket, looking around, trying to decide.

Gilbert allowed himself to be distracted by the sights, sounds, and smells of the gorgeous spring day. The once large piles of snow and ice were melting into smaller and more rounded mounds. The temperature was a determined forty-five degrees. It was good to be warm. Gilbert forced a smile on his face and contemplated anything he could to avoid a truth that he didn't want to admit. The Dean of the Medical School—Dr. Thomas Tomgallon—knew he was a witch. He wouldn't say it outright, as he wanted Gilbert to admit it to him, but he knew and Gilbert felt threatened.

Eugene had tried to warn him all year that he was too obvious with his powers. Gilbert's nickname, "Dr. Diagnosis" was no longer a good-natured joke. Now his peers looked at his skills with apprehension, not amazement. How did he not see this before? They knew he was different, the lot of them. Even the professors knew something, and now the dean. When Fred knew but didn't know, it was much easier for Gilbert to obscure the truth. Fred had preferred the obstruction, but Tomgallon wasn't malleable like Fred had been. He demanded a confession and Gilbert had no idea why.

Eugene looked up from his desk and chin pointed "hello". Even before Gilbert had uttered a single word, Eugene could tell from his gait and carriage that his meeting with Tomgallon had gone poorly. Gilbert took refuge on his side of their room and his bed sang a song of mechanical agonies, squeaking and squawking the moment he threw his weight upon it.

"He knows, Gene. He knows!"

The silence that followed was more upsetting and Eugene couldn't bear it like Gilbert could.

"You didn't tell him, did you?" Eugene slowly spoke as one of his many bubbling questions boiled over. He meant to keep a lid on his thoughts.

Eugene knew Gilbert well enough to be aware of his personality quirks. Gil mirrored the energies of those around him, so Eugene fought his tendency to get excited over Gilbert's powers. He still found them amazing and always would; yet unfortunately, his acceptance of them was too congenial. Gilbert needed to learn how to hide better and Eugene thought perhaps his ease with them was now more a hindrance than a help. It was training Gilbert the wrong way.

"He sure seemed confident that he knew I wasn't like anyone else. He called himself a 'mere physician'. Whatever that means."

"It means you're exceptional o' winner of the Excellence Award."

Gilbert delivered a snort and a sarcastic laugh. "Tell me something I don't know. Anyway, Tomgallon says whatever I tell him will be confidential. So maybe I should. What can he really do?" His tone was not at all convincing.

Eugene resisted the urge to get up and admonish Gilbert for even thinking about telling Dean Tomgallon he had supernatural powers. He bit his tongue, hoping Gil could work out his own direction.

"Maybe he is sincere. He seems to be a very religious man."

"But?"

"But—I guess I'm good with people knowing I have powers, so long as they don't use me."

Gene rolled his pale, blue eyes, "So, you're going to tell him?"

"I think so unless I can find a good reason not to tell him. What harm can come from it?" Gilbert wondered again as he attempted to talk himself out of his trepidation.

"But your gut tells you otherwise?" Eugene bounced. "Maybe Helen can read the situation better." Darn it! Eugene silently admonished himself for mentioning her.

"No, she can only see things in the past. Her powers aren't completely restored." Gilbert shook his head. "I thought I explained."

Eugene removed his glasses and massaged his brow and eyes. His glasses were out of date and he needed to visit the oculist. "No, you didn't explain, but, it's not really any of my business." Eugene's animated sigh gave some of his personal frustrations away.

Gilbert once hoped Helen and Eugene might have stumbled upon something a bit more promising than friendship last summer. Eugene turned uncharacteristically agile when around his cousin. Gilbert knew Eugene well enough now to see that his clumsy nature was a buffering defense from the rest of the world. The fact that Gene wasn't that way around Helen made Gilbert think Helen had penetrated past that barrier closer to Gene's heart.

"Gene—what happened between you and Helen?" Gilbert bravely asked. He wondered on and off over the fall and spring terms. Gene always seemed interested to hear of his news from home and his attentions were more rapt when that news was about or from Helen.

"Nothing"

"You know if I were to ask Helen she'll tell me everything. I rather ask you."

Predictably, there was a crash of movement as Eugene attempted to stand. Gilbert watched with a knowing smirk as Gene collected himself from the floor.

"Gil, when you were with Anne the evening after Mrs. Wright was healed, Helen and I had a little talk, and. . . ."

"And?"

"I'm not going to tell you all the particulars, but, there was magic in the air," Eugene cut himself short. "Sorry, I forgot for a second with whom I was speaking. I . . ."

"You kissed her?" Gilbert interrupted with a slight but approving smile.

Eugene shook his head, "No. I did something more foolish than that. I...proposed."

"You what?" Gilbert felt his heart start to race from Gene's boldness and he couldn't stop the feeling of surprise dancing through his body. What Eugene lacked in physical attractiveness he apparently made up for in confidence. Did he really have the audacity to propose after knowing Helen for a short week?

"She said 'no' so you can stop looking at me as if I'm a monster."

"Well, no, you're not a monster," Gilbert reassured. "You have more gall than I ever thought. She really said 'no'? I did think she liked you a whole lot more than Charlie and she told him 'yes'."

Eugene paced the floor as he worried himself through the memory, "I think she was right now, but I was serious when I asked. Everything I told her I meant, and still do."

"Sounds like she let you down easy," Gilbert's mustache twitched in uncertain emotion. Should he smile? Should he frown? Eugene didn't seem too distraught over Helen's refusing him. Gilbert remembered how he belly-ached for months when Anne refused him. Gil had tried his best to hide his disappointment from the rest of the world, but people knew. Her refusal had put a cloud over him.

Gilbert attempted to read Gene's body language to see if he was holding back.

"She would have said 'yes' Gilbert." Eugene looked at his books and notes piled neatly on his study desk. Earning his medical degree was his most important endeavor, it trumped everything else, including love, "She would have said 'yes' if I had agreed to stay on the island with her. And you know why I can't do that."

"Your mission, improve women's healthcare?"

"Exactly," Eugene could not deny his higher calling and Gilbert heard him sigh again, "But, going back to Tomgallon, I don't see how it would hurt to try and find out more. It's well within your capabilities to do some espionage. I wouldn't rush to tell him, Gil."

"What do you suggest?"

"Same thing as before. Bi-locate into his office and find that file."

Mr. Blythe had been right when he told Davy he'd be seeing a lot of Mr. Marin and his daughter. Mr. Marin stayed more or less around the barn where he cared for the hogs, cattle, and horses. He also worked on getting the farm equipment ready for planting time. Spring was just a few weeks away. The snow was almost gone and the ground would thaw. When planting time arrived, they'd all take turns at the plow and Mr. Marin would switch out the oxen and horses regularly so the animals were always rested.

Mr. Blythe took Davy for long, meandering walks around his property. Davy would tell Mr. Blythe about his day at school. He wasn't the biggest or brightest of the class but always tried hard. From these moments with Mr. Blythe, Davy slowly developed a sense of what having a father was like. Mr. Blythe was a fine listener. Nothing he said was unwelcome or uncomfortable, even his little story about not being the greatest student met a kind ear. Mr. Blythe informed Davy that he was a scholar after his own heart. He never quite understood Gilbert's passion for books.

The truth was Mr. Blythe understood Davy better than Davy understood himself. He knew why Davy was slow to move away from the meadow when Mr. Marin and his daughter wrangled the herd. Davy was experiencing a different sort of spring. Mr. Blythe had seen it before in Gilbert, albeit, Gil knew girls liked him. Davy didn't have such confidence. When John placed a hand on Davy to nudge him along, Davy only mentioned he really didn't see how the Marins managed to get the entire herd across the land so fast. It might have taken him days to accomplish what they could do in a few minutes.

Mr. Blythe explained that Mr. Marin was in charge of the barnyard animals when Davy hinted he could help with the cows. Mr. Marin needed some more convincing on Davy's capabilities before he'd let Davy pitch in with their milking, feeding, and cleaning. That decision might have suited Davy better if it weren't for the fact that his delicate-looking daughter was allowed to slap around a thousand-pound bull without her father raising any notes of concern for her safety.

Davy did things like unloading wagons and moving one-hundred-and-fifty-pound sacks of feed from one side of the stable to the other. Mr. Marin was not in the best shape for heavy lifting and conceded to Davy's assumed stronger muscles. Davy could barely lift one of those sacks.

Henrietta, the sow, watched him as he maneuvered the sack on the ground. Davy heard her snorts as he neared her trough. She called to him, asking for slop. Grunt, grrr-oink was all that the pig could say, even if she executed a variance of pitches to compensate for a lackluster vocabulary.

"Pig, I don't have anything for you!" Davy huffed after the third passing. "I'm sure you'll get your slop soon enough." Davy slid to the ground and rested a moment against the weight of the bag.

Miss Marin entered the open-air stable and found Davy resting. Her golden eyes blazed to see him sitting. Davy stood up again and got back to work. He didn't want her to know that he found the chore exhausting. The pig oinked away as Davy attempted to budge the bag.

"I'll help you, Davy," Miss Marin decided. The sack weighed more than Davy.

She took one side of the sack and Davy managed the other. Together they half-carried, half-dragged the feed to its proper storage place in the main part of the barn. Davy wiped his brow when it was over.

"Thanks!'

"Those are too heavy for you," she replied as she flattened the part running down the center of her head. She also had beads of perspiration around her hairline. Davy trained his eyes to follow the length of her stiff braid. He had caught himself staring at her one too many times. "Next time call me, I can hitch up Rival to a cart."

Davy smiled slightly, appreciating Miss Marin's work-saving idea but not necessarily liking the fact he needed the help. He was still on the small side of fourteen and not much taller than she. He wondered if his father had been a tall man, like Mr. Blythe and Gilbert. At least then he could hope for a day when those sacks would be no match for his strength.

"That's alright," Davy answered as he walked back to the place where Henrietta had oinked at him. He saw the bench now.

Miss Marin followed Davy. Henrietta saw her approach and excitedly tried to gain her attention.

"Be quiet, Pig!" Davy said. There was something peculiar about the sow: It kept trying to get their attention.

"Please stop calling her Pig!" Miss Marin blasted at Davy. Miss Marin was normally so quiet that her bold voice had a double effect. Her words lingered in the air like a fragrance. "She doesn't like it."

Her brown hands were fists on her hips. It was all Davy could do not to smile. He thought he might choke stifling his grins down. He couldn't take her eyes off her excited countenance.

"You don't want me to call her Pig? You do know she is a pig." Davy's hazel eyes flashed back to her. It was true after all. There was no point in Miss Marin saying she wasn't.

Miss Marin huffed, "She has a name and it's Henrietta." Her chin tilted up a bit for effect.

Davy laughed now, his smile spread stretched from one side to the other, "You want me to call her Henrietta?"

"That's right."

Davy couldn't quite believe how forceful Miss Marin had become. It was odd, like finding Dora in a disagreeable mood.

Miss Marin's face flashed an additional thought. "I think you should even apologize to her".

The pig squealed approval.

Davy looked away from the hilarity of it all. He was already in the habit of just apologizing for things that had nothing to do with him. Why not? He got up and stood next to the trough where the pig waited and said, "Henrietta, I apologize for calling you 'Pig'."

The large sow looked back at him. She quietly drooled her thanks as her brown eyes blinked. Now much quieter, she waddled away to wallow in the mud.

"Thank you for doing that, Davy." Miss Marin said quietly now.

She was now sitting on the bench, adjusting her shoes. Davy watched her small, brown hands manage the laces. The soles of her boots looked like Swiss cheese.

"You're still wearing those shoes?" Davy blurted, "I thought you were going to replace them. I gave you a quarter to help."

"Papa hasn't been feeling well, so the shoe money went to the doctor," Davy watched as Miss Marin's apologetic flush spread across her face. "Please don't be mad."

"I'm sorry," Davy immediately said as he sat down next to her. "Of course, you should help your father. Is he better then?"

"He's always had troubles with his shakes," Miss Marin answered flatly, not willing to complain, even in tone, "Just seems like they're worse."

"But he's better now?" Davy asked again. He had seen Mr. Marin have a seizure once. Mr. Blythe managed to keep Mr. Marin from knocking his head too hard on the ground. It was unsettling to watch. Mr. Blythe explained that sometimes it was normal for folks to have those types of troubles. There was even a word for it, something that started with an 'e'.

"Yes, I think so," she reported. "Last night we read some of those books you gave me. Have you read them yourself?"

Davy indicated 'no'.

Miss Marin then straightened her spine and courageously informed Davy, "Father reads them to me. The words are too big for me to understand. Do you also have a hard time reading?" She looked at him hopefully. Davy wondered if she had overheard him talking with Mr. Blythe about school. The books he had given her were written for children younger than them. He could read them easily if he wanted to.

"Not so much anymore," Davy truthfully responded. "But, I go to school. You should too."

"I hope I can next year," Miss Marin answered. "Papa hoped that Avonlea would take me. But the school board has rules about colored children at a white school."

Davy's stomach hurt realizing what she had told him. It was so unfair that it sickened him. "You don't go to school because you're half-black?"

"Well—I could go to the school in New Halifax." She swung a leg forward, "But it turns out there's not much to learn there and then, we do need the money. So I work. But I do want to read better. It's a dream of mine."

Davy swallowed and he heard himself suggest much to his own surprise. "Maybe I can help you since we're going to be seeing each other almost every day over the summer."

"Help me?" Miss Marin uncomfortably squeaked. "You?"

"Well—Anne's a teacher, and, I can always ask her for help." Davy didn't know where this idea was coming from; the words were coming out of his mouth unbidden. He felt his panic build, but his mouth continued on. "Would it really hurt if I tried?"

Miss Marin's forehead was a river of concerned lines as she looked him over, trying to decide. "I suppose, it won't hurt." She kicked another leg forward and sat a bit longer next to him. Both of them were looking ahead, trying their best not to look at each other. Davy didn't know how that had happened. He volunteered to help someone with schoolwork. Finally, Miss Marin excused herself saying that Mrs. Blythe was probably missing her.

Davy nodded, now unable to talk or give the simplest good-bye.

Diana Wright wrung her hands dry with a kitchen towel before she left her washtubs to respond to the familiar knock at the side door. Out of habit, she made a feeble attempt to neaten her appearance by tightening her slack apron strings. Diana reached for the brass knob and found, as she suspected, fourteen-year-old Dora Keith standing on her stoop. She had come to change the diapers of Diana's son and daughter.

Marilla Cuthbert's declaration that Dora could marry Ralph Andrews once she changed two thousand dirty diapers made quite the stir throughout Avonlea and beyond. Some thought Marilla mad, and a few thought her clever, but Diana, and the other mothers with very young children in the area, believed Marilla's strange decision to be providential. Every day they could count on young Dora Keith knocking at their door asking if she could change a diaper or two for them.

"Dora!" Diana smiled at the tall young lady and ushered her inside like an honored guest. "You caught me in the middle of washing laundry. I do wish Marilla would let you count the hours you spend here doing little things for me too."

"I tried but she reminded me our deal was on diapers and only the diapers. Although, she might allow Ralph to help me, and count any diaper he changes as well. But she said she first needs to see him do it first. She says she might even pay money to see Mr. Harmon Andrew's son change a nappy or two."

Dora followed Diana and her jolly laugh back to the stoves where the tubs of water sat heating up. Mrs. Wright gave the fire more coal hoping the additional fuel would speed up her work.

"Don't you do laundry on Mondays, Mrs. Wright?" Marilla had taught Dora long ago that each day had its own work, along with just plain tidying up and cooking meals.

"Well, yes, I do, but sometimes, you have to break the rules." Diana then showed Dora the overflowing diaper pail. "Freddie and Anne Cordelia have been sick and going through diapers like crazy. So, either I do laundry again or I run out. I suppose you're making your circuit this afternoon, you usually visit me last, I'm so far away."

After school and on weekends, Marilla let her walk to Billy Andrew's place, where there were always children running around needing a change, and then to Mrs. Robert Wright's, to change baby Robbie's soiled diaper, and then all the way out to Mrs. Fred Wright, where she could stay until Fred Jr and his baby sister were in Dora's need.

"Do I dare ask?" Diana hushed and twisted her lips, trying not to gossip but needing to satisfy her curiosity. "How is Gertie doing? Is there any more news on Robert? Or Charlie Sloane?"

"No," Dora said. All of Avonlea buzzed with rumors of the delayed ship. Delays were common though, the screw-ship steamers weren't perfect vessels, and many no longer had masts for sails as a backup. If the propellers had died, the ship might be adrift for a while before rescue.

"Fred is very worried and is organizing a prayer meeting here. It's tomorrow evening."

Dora gave Diana a faint smile. It was nice to hear that former Elder Wright still enjoyed Christian fellowship. No one knew quite the reason for his resignation from the session.

"I hope they come home."

"I hope so too. You're welcomed to pray with us, in fact, please do keep them both in your prayers, but I'm telling you this because Mr. Marin plans to invite his neighbors from New Halifax, and there will be quite a few babies here if so. You can really improve your count and meet some other mothers. And that might help you improve your daily count too." Diana blinked her kind eyes adding, "And I'll be very grateful for your help. How many diapers are you at?"

"Two hundred and two," Dora supplied shamefully. It was really very kind of Mrs. Wright to think of her. Dora and Ralph had figured out at the rate she was going, she'd be eighteen before they could marry. There was hardly any point. Dora kept suggesting that Ralph could help her; Marilla would be fair about it. And then Ralph would frown, stating that diaper changing was woman's work.

"Well, here's to two hundred and four before the end of today."

"Thank you, Mrs. Wright."

Diana smiled and suggested, "You can call me 'Diana'. At least, when we're alone like this. Don't call me 'Diana' in front of my mother though, she might faint."

Gilbert and Eugene thumbed through the many pages of Gilbert's file that had been supernaturally liberated from Dean Tomgallon's office. It was the exact same file Eugene had seen. Eugene had won their discussion on whether Gilbert should bi-locate into his office and borrow that journal, but only after Eugene assured Gilbert to the point of exhaustion that it would not be a misuse of his abilities. It was a matter of self-preservation.

Tomgallon kept his office tidy, much to Gilbert's annoyance. The entire room was spartan. Dean Tomgallon's desk only displayed his nameplate and a photograph of his very large family. For a second, Gilbert was distracted by the number of children on display. Gilbert counted heads; which included ten sons and four daughters, living. There had been others, now deceased. Everyone knew that death seemed to chase the Tomgallon name. Dr. Tomgallon sat in the center of his large family next to his wife. His fourteen children were satellites around them. With an apologetic sigh, Gilbert returned the photograph to its spot before searching the desk's drawers under their scowls.

After the desk failed to yield the treasure Gilbert sought, he turned his attention to the cherry-wood filing cabinets. The drawers were locked. Gilbert put his hands on his narrow hips and shrugged to no one his frustration as he pondered his options. His gut told him that he should be able to get to the contents the lock secured. He sensed a magical solution. Strictly speaking, his second body was whatever Gilbert needed it to be. He could turn his finger into a skeleton key. Or he could make himself into a tiny man and bi-locate into the drawer and unlock it from within. That seemed silly, running around the interior of the file cabinet as a small person, but it was the process of thinking through his powers that he finally saw how to handle the lock. In a moment of clarity, Gilbert pressed his thumb to upon the mechanism and the lock obeyed. Gilbert was happy to find the file but he was happier yet to cast his first magical spell. Once the file was in his hands, he closed the cabinet and shut down his second body. The file traveled back with him.

"I got it!" Gilbert said as his dormant body snapped back to life in the seclusion of the dormitory room. He showed Eugene the carefully collected folder with the name, Gilbert J. Blythe and his graduating year, written in neat, typewritten letters on the front.

Eugene crossed the room and took the file from Gilbert's hands bringing it to his desk where there was more room to dissect its innards. There on top was the page he had seen in a second's worth of snooping. Like a newspaper headline, only in red ink, the word "Miracle!" was stamped diagonally from the bottom left to upper right corners in huge, block letters.

"Here it is," Eugene hunched over the page so that Gilbert couldn't see it when he tried to lean in. "It's from Dr. Blair's office. It's your typhoid record, although, it seems Dr. Blair attempted to release the record without your name on it. He inked out some identifiers." Eugene chortled. "He left in the comments section that you had won the Cooper. So much for your privacy."

Gilbert felt the line between his hazel eyes appear, "That was deliberate, don't you think?" Eugene nodded but he was reading a handwritten letter secured to the record.

"Gil, listen to this. . .

"Dear Tom,

I have another miracle for you and your collection. This truly defies explanation. It's the worst case of typhoid I have ever seen. I told the patient's parents that he would die. The nurse thought so, and his great-uncle, who's another physician in practice agreed. My patient went through some of the worst hallucinations I had ever seen. And then his fever broke. Mysteriously, he made full recovery in days, when really, it should have taken him over a year. The last time I visited him, he was unloading one-hundred-and-fifty-pound sacks of feed off his father's wagon, and this was two weeks after I declared him gone. I cannot figure this one out, but then, sometimes that is how Providence works.

Respectively,

Jimmy Blair

Dr. J.B.T.W. Blair, MD Carmody

Class of '56 – McGill"

"Dr. Blair had no right to share my records with anyone except those that may need to see it."

Eugene wasn't finished and he looked through the rest of his section. "Gil, this is your scholastic record. It has everything a dean would want on his student. Copies of grades, admissions test, awards, recommendations, notes from professors. . ."

"And statements of health," Gilbert said as he found his own signature authorizing the release of his medical records from Dr. Spencer and Dr. Blair's offices among other pages. There were notes from both physicians going back to his birth. "And, I found another copy of those typhoid notes, only, it was unadulterated. My name shows up sure as Christmas. All this was meant to prove I was fit for school." Gilbert concluded. "We have nothing. I'm no closer in answering my questions on what he may know, or suspect about me."

"No," Eugene viciously shook his head. "I think we do, actually. According to your doctor, Dr. Blair, Dean Tomgallon collects miracles! That's the file we need to see. You need to go back and find it."

"No" Gilbert now shook his head. "This is the only file he had on me in that office. I looked everywhere for a key to unlock the cabinet."

"Gilbert, please tell me you didn't break anything to get this file out. I didn't even think about that. How did you manage it?"

"Bi-location is a versatile gift," Gilbert said in a quick huff of ambiguity.

Eugene paled. "Just how many blooms are in your magical bouquet?"

"Way to go in not making me feel weird," Gilbert complained as Eugene piled those pages back in their original order. Gilbert took them out of Gene's hand and placed them back in the folder bearing his name.

Katherine Brooke rolled to her back where she proceeded to stretch her arms over her head, thus opening her lungs for a deep, easy yawn. She then smoothed her lacy, white chemise back down and adjusted her dark long hair so it did not pull so hard. Her movements did not disturb her bedfellow. Helen Blythe laid next to Katherine, asleep still, but in a state of magical distress. It was Helen's shuddering movements that had caused Katherine to wake in the first place. Helen's dream was a re-occurring nightmare that had something to do with Charles Sloane's delay back home.

Katherine traveled regularly to Carmody on her weekends to be with Helen. Initially, her intent was to handle some of the bookkeeping Charles had left in Helen's care. Katherine found she enjoyed secretarial work as she went through Helen's business mail and prepared checks to vendors. Her presence eased Helen's anxieties so she could work with her creative team. According to the correspondence she received from Europe, Charles and Robert had managed to sell Helen's designs to a network of finishing schools. Helen's garments were easy to sew and alter, but the embellishments to those patterns were rich and a skillful exercise for a young lady learning to work a needle.

Katherine's striking red dress was a perfect example of one of Helen's original designs. It was a simple three-panel dress but the embroidery of the center panel made the dress unique. Everyone complimented Katherine when she wore it and Katherine enjoyed the commotion she stirred. Katherine couldn't believe that she had shied away from it as long as she had. It fitted her becomingly.

Another example of Helen's style was her own wedding dress. At first, when Helen showed Katherine her pale yellow gown, all Katherine could think was the old saying, Married in yellow, ashamed of your fellow. Lately, though, Katherine couldn't help but admire the details she added to the otherwise plain dress. Helen's bust and hips flared beautifully from her waist because of the ombré arrangement of three thousand French knots highlighting her voluptuous curves. It made the otherwise austere gown grand enough for any island princess.

Katherine wondered if Helen would actually wear the dress for her wedding. Helen was close to giving up on her hopes that Charles survived. Helen's anxieties coaxed Katherine's attention. She gave Helen her deep friendship. She gave her hugs and kisses. And one night, her passions. Somewhere along the way, Katherine stopped faulting Helen for making the decision to marry. Marriage was a necessary choice for women in Canada.* Love was not a factor in her equation.

Helen continued to shudder next to Katherine. Her eyes darted back and forth under her lids. Katherine butted her head next to hers and quietly slipped her hand into hers. Helen grasped Katherine's hand.

"There now," Katherine whispered to her witch, "I'm here to help you. Let me. Use me."

Helen's small stirrings lessened as Katherine's palms grew damp. Helen roused awake and relinquished her hold as she sat up.

"Did you see it again? The shipwreck?" Katherine asked, knowing she had.

Helen rubbed her blue eyes before settling back into the comfort of her pillow.

"Yes"

"Are they alive?"

Helen shook her head, frustrated. "I don't know. I just don't know. I've been having these dreams for two weeks now. It doesn't seem likely, does it?"

"No," Katherine was always honest almost to a point of cruelty. "I hope they are, for your sake. What will you do if they're not?"

Helen's eyes brimmed with tears and she found Katherine's hand again. "I don't know, but with your help, I think I will survive."

After Gilbert returned the file to Tomgallon's office, Eugene dispatched Gilbert to his residence. If there was such a collection of miracles, it was likely that the Dean kept them there.

The Tomgallons were at table when Gilbert bi-located into his professor's private office. Gilbert waited for his eyes to adjust to the dim light before moving. The clutter was more pronounced in the small, dark room. In a corner was an examination table, a hallmark back to when the Dean was in general practice. He had given it up. Teaching might have been an attractive switch for a man with so many children. The hours would be more steady and the money regular.

Gilbert saw a stack of papers on his desk. Carefully, he shuffled closer to the desk until he was standing over the tower. He worked through the pile. Stored near the top, was a bound folder with the word "miracles" scribbled over it. The Dean's handwriting was tough to decipher in such low light. He was about to bi-locate back when he heard it. Gooseflesh erupted over his arms.

A child was coughing terribly.

Gilbert raked his hand through his hair and listened to the wet, congested cough coming from the adjacent room. Anxieties long-forgotten reclaimed him and Gilbert's conscience poked him. The sound of it reminded him strongly of his father, back when he had consumption. The poor child could barely breathe. Gilbert heard the shuffling sounds of a nurse trying to provide comfort with her non-magical hands. Gilbert stood spellbound overhearing her soft voice.

"Don't worry, Andrew," she said lovingly. "I'll get you cleaned up and a fresh blanket."

A door opened and shut and then Gilbert heard movement in the hall as the nurse passed close by. The boy was too busy coughing his lungs out to bother to cry. Gilbert's powers urged him to heal. He'd have to close down his second body to do it and come back.

Gilbert put the file he found back on Tomgallon's desk. The miracles Tomgallon collected were Tomgallon's business, not his. It would just take a moment, he could heal the boy, and he wasn't going to wait or argue with himself on whether he should. Gilbert shut down his second body and before Eugene could ask, he magically traveled back to Tomgallon's house. He found himself knocking on the front door and asking for the Dean. There was something he needed to tell him.

Gilbert waited in the entry of the large house as the manservant called for the master. Dean Tomgallon came forward and glared at Gilbert. Gilbert broke eye contact and then indicated that the butler should be excused.

"That's alright, Mr. Evans," the Dean said picking up on Gilbert's cue. The butler retreated quickly. The Dean leaned into Gilbert's space, challenging his coming, "You came all the way to my place to tell me something? This better be good, Mr. Blythe."

Gilbert attempted to take a step forward, straining to hear the boy's cough. "May I come in further? I believe someone here needs my help."

Tomgallon was stationary as a mountain, his huge body blocking the corridor. Gilbert side-stepped around him anyway and paced to the other end of the parlor until he heard it again.

"Is that your son?" His hazel eyes flashed back to the Dean's. "I can help.' Gilbert said again.

Dean Tomgallon stopped being an intimating educator and looked more like a worried father. "My son Andrew is dying from consumption."

"I recognize that cough," Gilbert reported.

"And so you should."

"No—I mean, my father had consumption. I would know that cough anywhere. Just the sound of it puts a panic in me."

Gilbert automatically searched for the source and wandered into the hallway. He couldn't have stopped himself if he had tried. Normally, he wielded his powers, but it seemed to be the other way around now. He had to cure the boy. Tomgallon let him roam but monitored his progress.

Gilbert stopped in front of the door that isolated the young boy from the rest of the family. He had no plans to barge in and scare him. He told Tomgallon what he wanted.

"Please introduce me to Andrew. It will go better if he's not afraid of me." Gilbert's hands trembled as he felt his powers build and he caught Tomgallon noticing his quivering fingers.

"Alright, Mr. Blythe," and Tomgallon placed his chubby hand on the doorknob.

The nurse sat next to Andrew. She was dabbing his peaked face with a moistened towel removing the phlegm and blood expelling from his mouth and nose. Despite the terrible state he was in, Andrew gave his father a smile. Gilbert followed two steps behind the large man satisfied with his decision to heal the boy. Maybe this would right the wrong he made in snooping around Tomgallon's things in the first place.

"Nurse Rogers, why don't you take a break for a second? I'll sit with my son."

Nurse Rogers dutifully exited the room with a promise to return shortly with water and more towels. Tomgallon balanced his overweight form on the chair she vacated.

"Son, Andy, someone is here to see you. He's a student of mine at school. His name is Mr. Blythe. He wants to take a look at you. Is that alright?"

The boy squinted a 'yes' with his eyes somewhere between all his deep, guttural coughs. Gilbert kneeled next to Andrew and said quietly. "I'm going to hold your hand, so I can really see what's wrong and what I need to do. My hand will get a bit warm, but don't let it concern you."

Holding the boy's hand was almost like holding a skeleton's hand. It was so thin and fragile. Gilbert could tell at once that Andrew had been fighting tuberculosis a long time. The boy's life-force told Gilbert's he was desperate for relief, so desperate, that death would be a welcomed friend. Luckily for Andrew, he was going to live. As Gilbert read the child's health, he felt his abilities flowing into him. Andrew had stopped coughing and his breathing improved.

Gilbert turned and looked at Tomgallon. The Dean's cheeks were wet but Gilbert pretended not to see his tears.

"I'll need to unbutton his nightshirt."

"Go ahead"

He noticed how Andrew's white nightshirt bore faded bloodstains as he unbuttoned the vertical line. He reached his hand inside and laid it firmly on his chest. His hand was big enough to cover both lungs. Gilbert also bi-located his magic to be inside the boy's chest cavity. Gilbert felt himself weaken as the flow of energy restored his lungs completely. The boy's breathing normalized. He did not remove his hands until he was sure he had eradicated all the disease.

Gilbert felt the hand of his mentor on his shoulder. He shrugged off the additional emotional weight. The Dean knew what he was now. Gilbert stood slowly and told Andrew, "You should feel better now."

Tomgallon crowded in, using his stethoscope to hear his son's lungs. Gilbert felt conspicuous and added distance between himself and the beautiful picture of father and son. Andrew hugged his father back, telling him how good he felt, showing him how his lungs could take a deep breath. And his father was blessing God for Gilbert's healing. When the nurse returned, Gilbert made his way to the hall. He tried to navigate his way back to the front door but found his legs wobbly and his vision blurry. He would have magically traveled his way back to his room if he hadn't, once again, burned off that ability Katherine had shown him.

Tomgallon found him stumbling and helped him into the very office that Gilbert had earlier visited. Gilbert sat down in the chair in front of the desk.

"Mr. Blythe, Gilbert. Do you need something, water? You don't look very well."

Gilbert shook his head 'no'. It was good to sit; he could recover quicker in the chair than on his feet.

"You healed my boy!" Tomgallon pulled out his handkerchief and wiped his eyes. "Thank you for that. A million thanks."

Gilbert sat numb. "You knew about me though, didn't you?"

"I only hoped I was right!" Tomgallon explained. "There have been a few others that managed to hide their powers in medical school. But their abilities were rather limited. You, on the other hand. Wow! I can't believe I finally found you!" Tomgallon said ecstatically. His chuckles were joyous. "I've been close before, looking for one witch, any witch strong enough to counter the family curse. I thought once I found a man in Cuba but then he ran off before I could do a proper investigation. But he was only an animal charmer. But you!" Once again Gilbert found himself on the receiving end of uncomfortable adulation. "You're the most powerful witch that I've ever studied."

"Studied?" Gilbert perked up.

"Know of, I mean," Tomgallon waved the cigar he had lit in celebration before Gilbert. "I just can't ask any ol' witch to do what needs to be done. No! My family has been cursed for a century. And you will get rid of it for me."

to be continued

*LM Montgomery